


How it Feels

by ElwritesFanworks



Series: Queer Shenanigans in the North Sea [1]
Category: Boat that Rocked | Pirate Radio (2009)
Genre: Affection, Bi-Curiosity, Bromance to Romance, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dave being the boat's resident asshole, Depressing Thoughts, Dorks in Love, Drunken Flirting, Drunken Kissing, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Sexual Harassment, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Post-Deprivation game, Post-Divorce, Rejection, Sloppy Makeouts, bisexual!Nutsford, but obvs is before the boat sinks, newly outed!Nutsford, newly single!Simon, oh yeah and no idea as to when this occurs in the canon, relies on knowledge of deleted scenes, such as the boat tour contest, think that's all the tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-27
Updated: 2016-10-27
Packaged: 2018-08-27 07:36:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8392849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElwritesFanworks/pseuds/ElwritesFanworks
Summary: Simon's devestated by Elenore leaving him. Angus is uneasy with the crew knowing what he got up to as a schoolboy. One thing leads to another thing leads to late night cuddling and the shouldering of one another's burdens.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Here's a fic that literally nobody wanted. Two dorks at sea. Also trigger warning for Dave's dubious sexual morality, a briefly depressed Nutsford, and drunken kissing. Yeah.

* * *

The sea was black in the darkness, just barely reflecting the moon. Looking at it was like looking into the void – Angus shut his eyes and focused instead on pulling his coat more tightly around himself. It got deadly cold at night – normally Angus couldn’t be bothered to linger on deck after dark – not alone, at any rate. Not when there was no reason to be there but to look at the damn, disconcerting sea he could so easily drown in.

_If I fell in right now, I’d be a goner. I’d sink like a stone, with no one to leap in and save me._

The thought came seemingly out of nowhere, permeating his thoughts and making his stomach lurch. He'd been in a mood since the game of 'Deprivation' and now the sight of the inky water was inspiring the worst.

_Maybe it’d be for the best. Who’d miss the Nut, if he was lost to the depths of the North Sea?_

Darkness, that thought, invading the mind like a creeping sickness. Negative vibes or bad energy or something foul carried in on the breeze. Angus turned his back on the sea and shuddered, only to nearly jump out of his skin at the sight of someone standing a few feet away, staring at him.

“Jesus, Simon – whatcha lurking in the shadows for?”

Simon didn’t speak – he sort of whined, sounding a bit like an injured animal – and shuffled towards him, miserably.  Almost immediately, Angus could smell the booze on him.

“You look like the dog’s dinner.”

Simon whined again and, floating forward like a sad, wine-scented cloud, leaned his head on the smaller man’s shoulder.

“… need a hug,” he slurred. Angus’s arms came up to hold him automatically.

“Sure thing, mate. Give Angy some love.”

He cringed as he said it – it fell, awkward and unfunny from his lips, and _God, if only I could sound like I do on air._

“ ‘m pathetic,” Simon sobbed wetly into the New Zealander’s coat.

“Nah – who’s said that?”

“No one needs to say it – my wife proved it.”

“That’s not the end, surely? You’ll find another bird.”

“Nuh uh,” Simon mumbled childishly. “I was a fool to trust her.”

 _Well, that much was true,_ Angus reflected, but was smart enough not to say it.

“Look, it’ll do neither of us any good to freeze to death out here. Whaddaya say we go back inside make a cuppa tea, put on a record, hey?”

Simon didn’t speak, but he let Angus shepherd him below deck, and into the New Zealander’s bedroom. He sat, slumped, on the other man’s bunk, his eyes downcast, and allowed Angus to bundle him up in an olive-green Afghan.

“Wait here – I’ll get you a –”

“No tea, thanks,” the Irishman insisted. “Wine. Whiskey if you’ve got it.”

“That’s not a good idea, the state you're in. I’ll be right back – won’t take a minute.”

Simon shook his head obstinately.

“I don’t wanna be alone.”

Angus hesitated. Something twisted in his chest at the other man’s words. He knew the pain of loneliness, the sting of rejection. Perhaps he was the only other man on board who did. _Well, except for Young Carl,_ he mused, mind conjuring up the unfortunate image of the tableau he must've seen, Marianne and Dave 'in flagrante.' _Poor kid._

“Right,” he said, and turned away from the door.

He dug out an album by The Seekers, and kept the volume low. The harmonies were soothing, played like that, faint and constant. If Simon didn’t care for it, he didn’t say. He just sat there, curling in on himself, staring off into space with a tragic look on his face. It was enough to have Angus moving to sit next to him without a second thought.

Rather than push him away, Simon caught the other man ‘round the shoulders and pulled him into a tight hug, knocking them both off balance. They fell sideways, settling into a strange tangle of limbs that Angus had to admit he found comforting. More than comforting, really. He was reminded, fleetingly, of huddling close to another in the dead of night. Of the way it had been both frighteningly new and uncannily familiar to feel Jackman’s fingers mapping the narrow, hairless contours of his adolescent body, all those years ago.

Almost as if reading his mind, Simon spoke.

“Why’d you never tell us you go for men, before?”

Angus tensed, clearing his throat and looking away.

“I don’t – I’m not a –”

“But you did.”

“That’s… it’s complicated.”

Simon nodded slowly.

“Y’like both?”

A small voice in Angus’s mind asked him what he’d gain from being honest. He wasn’t drunk or high enough to blame it on that.

Then again, at this point, what did he really have to lose?

“I… yeah, I guess so. And I didn’t tell anyone because… well, you see how it is with Felicity – everyone teasing her left and right.”

“S’all in fun.”

“Yeah, because we all know she won’t go for it! I just. I didn’t want everyone to assume I'll be the town bike, y’know?”

Simon blinked at him owlishly and shook his head. Angus sighed.

“Y’know, the sort of person who everyone... takes for a ride – look, I’m on thin enough ice as it is,” he added. Simon frowned.

“No – no, don’t… we love you, Ang. We do.”

“The fans don’t. Not the ones who came on the boat for the contest, anyway.”

“That was just a few –”

“More than a few –”

“Well, I like you! You’re a nice person.”

Simon said it with a sort of drunken earnestness that made Angus’s chest go warm. He found himself staring into the Irishman’s eyes, and promptly dropped his gaze.

“I appreciate it. Still. Hasn’t been out a week and already the comments have started.”

“Comments…?”

Again, Angus considered shutting his mouth. Nothing good would come from repeating what he was about to divulge. Best to forget it. Let life move on freely. Somehow, though, his lips kept flapping.

“Dave asked me to give him a gobby the other night.”

Simon blinked again. Angus mimed the action, by way of explanation, moving his hand as he jabbed his tongue against the inside of his cheek. The Irishman reddened, eyes narrowing in disbelief.

“Dave never asked you that! _Dave?”_

“Well, dared is more accurate. He didn’t mean it! He was very drunk – doubt he even remembers it now.”

Angus’s half-shrug didn’t fool Simon for a moment, and he said as much.

“But you do?”

_Dave’s bulk crowding him against the wall, hot breath on his beard, on his lips, insinuation, the mean streak the big man was quick to deny sparking in the words._

_‘Since you’re a pansy, now, fancy going down under?’_

_An awkward laugh – play it off as a joke, Angus, just step around Dave – but the man could be fast when he wanted to be. Hand on his wrist, just enough pressure to scare, and a biting bit of word play, cutting his nervous blabbing short._

_‘Put a cock in it, Nutsford.’_

Angus had survived the encounter, honour intact, but not before he blushed and choked on his rebuttal like a fool and Dave laughed in his face. He grimaced at the memory, inadvertently hugging Simon closer.

“… yeah.”

They didn’t speak for a while. Angus took comfort in the even pace of the other man’s breathing.

“This’s nice,” Simon murmured, sounding nearly asleep. Angus hummed in agreement.

“Should be you and the missus, basking like this… I’m a poor second choice.”

“She never wanted me. Who was I fooling, falling for a girl like that? I should’ve known I had no chance.”

Angus shook his head.

“I swear, there’s a future Mrs. Simon Swafford waiting just ‘round the corner. You’ll find your dream girl yet.”

Simon rolled over slightly, pillowing his cheek on Angus’s shoulder.

“Women are mad, aren’t they?”

Angus snorted.

“Amen to that.”

“S’nice… to… t-to make love with a woman, I mean… it’s meant to be nice. But they’re all… insane.”

“Mm.”

Simon’s hand was petting the New Zealander’s side now, absently.

“Must be easier, for you. Twice as many people to choose from.”

Angus glanced over, brow furrowing.

“I never – I wasn’t lying, y’know. I haven’t gone for that since my schooldays.”

Simon considered this.

“It’s… what’s it like, anyway? I mean how…”

Angus felt himself reddening.

“H-how does it work, y’mean?”

“No – how does it _feel?_ ”

The Irishman wet his lips with his tongue unconsciously. Angus stared, riveted.

“Only... sometimes I think I might like both, too.”

Angus startled at that, drawing back a bit to squint at Simon’s face, mere inches from his own.

“You – y-you –”

He swallowed, throat suddenly dry and useless. All at once, it didn’t matter, as the Irishman’s hot, wet mouth was on his. Angus groaned, opening to the kiss in spite of himself. It felt good, just to be close to someone who knew him as more than a DJ – who called him ‘Ang’ or ‘Angy’ and didn’t tease as much as the others. Simon’s tongue tasted of drink as it flailed clumsily against the New Zealander’s own. Angus was aware, dimly, that there was drool soaking from the soppy kiss into his beard, and further down, saturating his pillow. When they parted, Simon’s lips were like twin rubies, shining and swollen from the snog. Angus suppressed a mad urge to trace them with his fingers. His face split with a nervous grin and he giggled a brief staccato – a short, sharp, nasal sound.

“Huh,” Simon slurred.  “Elenore never…”

“Never?”

“Smiled. After.”

The taller man snuggled closer, eyes shut and breath close and warm against Angus’s neck.

“S’fine if I sleep here? I’m a bit… my head’s...”

He made a vague noise. Angus nodded.

“Yeah, you’re pretty wobbly…”

The kiss Simon pressed to his throat made him shiver.

“Thanks.”

He was snoring shortly after, and only then did Angus trust himself to speak, eyes wide and fixed on the ceiling, too tense to dare to move.

“G’night, Simon.”


End file.
